Not a Spot of Rust
Strolling down the sidewalk, I'm rolling
Along my daughter's outgrown bicycle.
It's a sunny day and I see a father
Out for a walk with his daughter.
She's so small she isn't walking at all,
She's riding on her father's shoulders.
She recognises what I'm guiding as a bike
And is drawn to it, but she wouldn't fit,
The size is much too big for her;
She's still at the tricycle stage.
Although the thought crosses my mind
To say, `Here, have yourself a bicycle,'
I know it's not practical. Her parents
Would have to store it for some years,
By which time they might decide
To hold a garage sale and exchange it
With a passer-by who can meet their price.
Besides, I'm not convinced that she
Is completely nice, she may be nothing
Like my own and not worthy to ride it.
All in all, I prefer the anonymous Goodwill,
Since I don't have a hand-picked inheritress
In mind, and I wouldn't want it to fall
Into the wrong hands, or regret my choice
When it's too late to take it back.
I continue wheeling to Goodwill, where
I make a small donation of this very
First bicycle. May some well-deserving girl
Find it and enjoy riding it as mine has.
©2012 Michael Fraley
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